


Gonna Bite Your Feelings Out

by runphoebe



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Consensual Infidelity, Drunk Sex, F/M, Infidelity, M/M, Past Infidelity, Past Relationship(s), Unhealthy Relationships, Unresolved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 15:10:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10126178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runphoebe/pseuds/runphoebe
Summary: “She seems nice,” Jonny says after a moment of awkward silence passes between them.“She is nice,” Patrick agrees. With no glass to hold in his hands, he fidgets awkwardly, fingertips rubbing his chapped lips. “You look good, Jonny.”“Thank you,” Jonny says tightly, like it’s not killing him. Like watching Patrick’s big fingers skirt over his lips and jaw and chin isn’t killing him. “You know, I have some pictures of you naked in my old apartment if you think that would refresh your memory.”Patrick’s hands still. “You still jerk off to those?” he asks, voice all chilly indifference that used to make Jonny want to punch him in his goddamn face.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Got a tumblr prompt from allthebros about three hundred years ago for a first sentence challenge I was doing. In this case, the first sentence prompt was, "'Hi,' Jonny says, pushing his hands in his pockets. 'Long time no see.'" Which you can most certainly tell is not the actual first sentence of this fic, because I am a failure. It's a few paragraphs down, though, and it is what inspired the entirety of the fic. 
> 
> I don't know if it's entirely clear in the fic, but Patrick is still Patrick, hockey player, and Jonny is not. They used to fuck, but at this point, it's been years since they last saw each other. 
> 
> I realize that this fic has a lot of heavy warnings, so if you think you need additional (spoilery) warnings, read the end notes. 
> 
> Finally, I did not tag this with unhappy ending, because I'm not sure that I think it is, but ymmv. In my head, especially, it's not, because this snippet exists in a larger verse with a happier ending. The title is from Gold by Kiiara bc that song is how I'd define the dynamic of their relationship.

Patrick Kane comes to Jonny’s birthday party with a girl. Jonny doesn’t even know the girl, but that’s expected; TJ’s throwing this party, which means Jonny doesn’t recognize half the people in his apartment. It’d be fine, except Jonny upgraded after his lease ended last January, and now he’s halfway up a highrise with granite countertops in his kitchen and a bedroom that has more square footage than the entirety of his last apartment. Ragers with a bunch of strangers are suddenly becoming less and less tolerable, and he’s pretty sure his pinch-faced neighbors agree. 

But Jonny would be lying if he said those worries didn’t fade into insignificance with the presence of Patrick in his condo, eight hundred dollar supple  leather ankle boots intending the soft plush of rug on Jonny’s living room floor. Patrick’s upgraded, too, since the last time Jonny saw him; the girl, the cut of his clothes, the price tag on his watch. He looks unrecognizably like a man now, all of that little boy cockiness faded into someone confident enough to wear pants tailored to show off the fact that he tucks left. 

He’s chilling in a corner of Jonny’s living room, arm around his girl’s waist and his other hand cradling a tumbler of Johnnie Walker on ice. Patrick doesn’t move, even to refill his drink, letting people come to him. The only indication that he’s uncomfortable is the way his fingers clench minutely around his glass each time a new person approaches him, and a tightness around his lips that quickly bleeds into a familiar, cocky smirk. 

It’s weird, having Patrick in his space, in this new space that hasn’t even started to feel like home. Memories of him were littered immutably across the expanse of Jonny’s last apartment, like how Jonny couldn’t do a load of laundry without remembering how Patrick fucked him on the washing machine, or clean his nightstand without remembering how Patrick used to keep a box of tissues there in case he stayed over, or shave his fucking face in the bathroom mirror without getting a hard on thinking about the time Patrick caught him mid-shave and went to his knees behind him, spreading his ass open to eat him out. 

So, yeah, this place may not feel like home yet, but at least it doesn’t feel like any part of it belongs to Patrick. 

Jonny’s not going to let that change already. Patrick can stand there all he wants, pretending he doesn’t know Jonny, pretending he’s here because TJ knows his girl and told her she could bring a plus-one, but this is Jonny’s fucking apartment and Patrick’s drinking Jonny’s fucking whiskey while he laughs with Jonny’s fucking friends. He waits until there’s a lull in the crowds surrounding Patrick and wanders over to him, eyes locked. 

“Hi,” Jonny says, pushing his hands in his pockets. “Long time, no see.” 

Patrick’s gaze falters, fluttering to a spot on the carpet in a series of rapid blinks. Jonny mentally counts this as a win. Patrick regains himself quickly though, curving his glance back toward Jonny with an intensity that makes Jonny’s heartbeat catch. 

“Hey, you guys know each other?” the girl on Patrick’s arm asks. “I thought I was the one with the invite to this party.” 

“We used to,” Jonny corrects smoothly. “Jonny Toews,” he introduces himself. The girl smiles politely, and it’s a punch to the gut how fucking beautiful she is. “Pretty sure TJ invited half of Chicago to this party. He knows how much I love having a thousand strangers in my place.”

“Melody,” the girl answers with a grin, shaking her head fondly. “That sounds like TJ.”

“Yeah, Jonathan used to let me kick his ass at Mario Kart. Been a while though. Hey, man,” Patrick says, reaching for a fistbump. The brief slide of their knuckles against one another is electric. “Nice digs.” 

“Thanks,” Jonny says. “The old place was a shithole.” 

Jonny’s not sure if he meant that to sting, or why it even would, but Patrick flinches anyway. “I don’t remember it much,” he says. His face is flat, impassive, and his fingers are white-knuckled around his whiskey glass when he lifts it to his mouth and drains it in one gulp, throat contracting thickly. 

“You want another, baby?” Melody asks, proprietary hand slipping across his chest. 

“Thanks, babe,” Patrick says, handing her his glass. Jonny tracks her as she walks to the wet bar, wondering cruelly if her thin frame can take it the way Patrick likes to give it. It’s fucking unfair as hell, when she’s given him no reason to think she’s anything other than a nice person and attentive girlfriend. If she’s friends with TJ, Jonny knows she has to be cool - and that’s the worst part. 

“She seems nice,” Jonny says after a moment of awkward silence passes between them. 

“She is nice,” Patrick agrees. With no glass to hold in his hands, he fidgets awkwardly, fingertips rubbing his chapped lips. “You look good, Jonny.” 

“Thank you,” Jonny says tightly, like it’s not killing him. Like watching Patrick’s big fingers skirt over his lips and jaw and chin isn’t killing him. “You know, I have some pictures of you naked in my old apartment if you think that would refresh your memory.” 

Patrick’s hands still. “You still jerk off to those?” he asks, voice all chilly indifference that used to make Jonny want to punch him in his goddamn face. 

“Here, sweetie,” Melody says, slipping back against Patrick’s side before Jonny has a chance to answer and handing Patrick a fresh glass of whiskey. The ice cubes clink when Patrick brings it to his lips. She’s refilled her own glass of red wine, too, and Jonny notices with some contempt that she’s the kind of person who’s perfected drinking red wine without staining their lips. “Jonny, I didn’t even offer to get you anything, I’m sorry.” 

“No, please, I’ve already had enough, I’m too old for more than a few drinks a night, anymore. The hangovers kill me,” he says. “Plus, I think TJ’s going to kill me if I don’t start giving him some attention soon.” 

“Fair enough,” Melody laughs. “Well, happy birthday if we don’t see you again. It was nice meeting one of Pat’s old friends.” 

“You too,” Jonny smiles, taking her hand when she offers it. “If this party sucks, it’s all TJ’s fault, okay?” 

“I’ll be sure to log any complaints with him,” Melody says. 

“He’s gonna love that,” Jonny says. “Good to see you, Patrick.” 

“Been too long,” Patrick says. “Maybe we can catch up later.” 

“Sure,” Jonny says, and hates him with a ferocity that makes his teeth ache. 

* 

It's three hours before Patrick's got Jonny bent over the white marble top of his master bathroom vanity, pants around his ankles and strong fingers clutching the meat of Jonny's ass as he pulls his cheeks open to bare his hole. 

“Fuck you,” Jonny growls when Patrick spits on it, rubbing it in with his thumb. It's been less than a week since Jonny's been touched here, but it's been years since it was Patrick, and no one lights him up like Patrick. 

“Yeah, Jonny,” Patrick laughs. “Look at you, still so easy for this.” 

His thumb sinks dry and thick into the give of Jonny’s hole, but the width of it just makes Jonny ache for a thick cock to clench down around. “Fuck you,” he spits again, meeting Patrick’s eyes in the mirror. He’s drunk, like Jonny, and his lips are bright red from the way he keeps snagging them between his teeth. 

“Don’t be like that, baby,” Patrick says, reaching across Jonny for the tube of expensive hand cream on the counter. He coats his fingers with it liberally, and Jonny can taste the tang of its scent mingling with the musk of Patrick cologne on the back of his tongue. “Don’t you want a dick in your ass? I know how much you love this. I know how much you missed this.” 

“You think I can’t get this any time I want?” Jonny pants, bracing his legs wide open as Patrick curls two fingers inside his hole, calluses abrading the sensitive stretch of his rim. “You think there aren’t three guys out there right now who I got it from just this month?” 

“Slut,” Patrick says, but there’s real anger tightening the tenor of his voice. Jonny doesn’t care. “You want another, baby?” he asks, tapping his ring finger against Jonny rim. The words ring in a dull echo of Melody asking Patrick if he wanted another drink earlier that night, and Jonny’s swamped with a flood of unwanted emotions over the fact that Melody’s socializing in his living room while Jonny’s in the bathroom getting fingered by her boyfriend. 

“I’m not your baby,” Jonny grunts. Patrick’s fingers are wide, and they haven’t forgotten the way Jonny melts when they stroked relentlessly over his prostate. “‘M not your fucking baby.” 

When Jonny glances in the mirror again, Patrick’s eyes are shuttered, cool and flat as he works his pinky finger in alongside the other three. It’s a lot, but Patrick’s dick is big. “I bet you wanna be, though” he says, a cruel twist to his voice, like it’s not breaking Jonny’s heart to be left alone in his bathroom with an ass full of come while Patrick takes his sweet girlfriend home. “I always liked fingering you, Jonny, I always liked -,” 

“Fuck me,” Jonny moans. “If you make me come before you get your dick in, I’m not letting it anywhere near me.” 

“Shit,” Patrick huffs, pulling his fingers out unceremoniously and wiping the excess lotion on his dick, easing it inside the gape of Jonny’s hole. “ _ Shiiiittt,  _ Toews. God, your fucking ass.” 

“Fuck, fuck,” Jonny pants, adjusting slowly to the stretch. It hurts, but the pain grounds him as he gets dizzy with the awareness that he’s being fucked by Patrick Kane, that Patrick’s thumbs are spreading Jonny open for his dick, that Patrick’s teeth ache in the meat of his shoulder when he bends down to catch the flesh in a bruising bite. 

“Okay?” Patrick whispers when he’s bottomed out. There’s an intimacy in the hushed breaths between them that makes Jonny want to cry. 

“Just -,” Jonny says, breathing as his body struggles to accommodate Patrick. Patrick brings one shaky hand to the small of his back, rubbing the knot of muscle that has him strung tight. “Okay, okay. I’m okay.” 

“Yeah, baby,” Patrick says, voice still soft. Jonny can’t tell him off this time, not when he’s too wrapped up in the slow, gentle thrusts that drag Patrick’s dick in and out of him and the unattainable promise of his words, and all the moments he wasted believing Patrick might let him be his baby. 

*

“Hey,” Jonny says, wiping between his legs with a face towel. He feels humiliatingly exposed like this, soft cock damp against his thigh, when Patrick’s already tucked himself back inside his khakis. His biceps flex in his grey polo as he fires off a text before tucking the phone in his back pocket. 

“Hey,” Patrick says back. It’s harder for him to keep the softness from bleeding out around his eyes when he’s only a few minute post-orgasm. “What’s up?”

“You know I don’t have naked pictures of you, right?” Jonny asks, not making eye contact as he tugs his gray chinos over his ass. “I’m not - I wouldn’t -,” 

“Hey, I know,” Patrick says. He’s paranoid as fuck, but Jonny figures he’s had a lot of chances to ruin Patrick’s life and he hasn’t yet. It’s a pretty good reason to trust him. “Remember when we took those?” he asks, grinning a little. It evokes an achingly strong memory in Jonny, the image of Patrick strewn across his bed, belly up like a cat lazing in the sun. It had been impossible for Jonny not to document the moment, Patrick’s thighs still messy with lube, curls two months overdue for a haircut and shimmering golden in the evening sunlight. If Jonny could have bottle that moment and those versions of themselves forever, he would have, but it had been just as easy to delete the pictures from his hard drive in a fit of anger and sadness as it had been to take them in the first place. 

“I try not to,” Jonny says honestly. He’s never had much self-preservation when it comes to Patrick. 

Patrick’s eyes flash up, catching Jonny’s before he can look away. “Hey, Jonny, I -,” 

“Melody’s waiting, isn’t she?” Jonny asks, turning to the mirror to straighten his hair. “You’ve been gone a long time.” 

Patrick’s silent while Jonny turns on the tap to dampen his fingers and fix his hair. “Okay,” he says eventually, pulling his phone back out and thumbing in his passcode. “Happy birthday, Jonny.”

“See you around,” Jonny says, but Patrick’s already gone. 

**Author's Note:**

>  **Warnings:** Patrick is in a relationship with an OFC when he and Jonny engage in sexual activity in the fic. There are mentions of Patrick sleeping with other women when he and Jonny used to fuck. It is a very unhealthy relationship (at this point and in the past), with both of them wanting more from each other, but Patrick being unable to give it because he's uncomfortable enough with his own sexuality that he can't let himself be in a relationship with a man, and Jonny being unwilling to stay in the closet with him.


End file.
